Storms and Elevators
by Nash Carter
Summary: A stormy night and a bad feeling... and everything that can go wrong, does. Some Starsky hc, some language, nothing too bad


Chapter 1

"What's the matter, Starsk, got lice?"

Starsky shot his partner an annoyed look, not deeming him worthy an answer. He just kept scratching his head and returned his attention to the building they were watching.

"Wouldn't itch if you'd just get rid of that hat."

"My head is getting cold. Don't wanna get pneumonia. I'm just not used to the cold like this. Of course you wouldn't notice the difference, you've never had much hair." He didn't like that hat very much himself, but he had no intention to catch a cold, either, just because he was too vain to put on a head when it was cold.

Hutch shook his head. "Starsky, we're in Bay City. It's not cold enough for you to get anything, and besides, you don't get pneumonia from a little cold. Not to mention that you're from New York, don't you have cold winters there? I've never seen you wearing anything in all the years we've been working together..."

Still grinning, Hutch waited for Starsky to come up with a good answer, greatly enjoying their familiar banter. Starsky wasn't the most fashion conscious person around, as far as his partner was concerned. Sure, Hutch's clothes were usually casual and practical for their line of work. But they were also usually very tasteful.

Starsky on the other hand didn't seem to care what his clothes looked like, as long as they fit and were clean. If his jeans got holes in them, he just patched them up. No reason to throw away a perfectly good pair of jeans just because they had seen some wear and repair. Or just because the borders were a little frayed. And why should he throw away his old army jacket, just because it was a little outdated and didn't have all the buttons it used to have? Still, somehow he managed to look good in whatever he decided to wear, old or not. But this hat was a really low point. Not only did it look crummy and ridiculous, it also flattened his shorter than normal dark curls to his head, which was a real shame.

As sudden as it had appeared, Hutch's grin vanished, along with his good mood. Just as quickly it was replaced with horrible memories, mixed with a vague sense of guilt, as he remembered just why Starsky's hair was so short at the moment. Appalled at his own insensitivity he turned to his friend and put his hand on Starsky's shoulder, his voice low with regret. "Starsk, I'm sorry. Don't know what came over me. Forgive me?"

The look Starsky gave him in response could only be described as incredulous. Of course he had been reminded of the events that led to his wearing this stupid garment by Hutch's remarks, and of course the memories were unpleasant. But what was there to forgive, for crying out loud?

"You're weird, you know that?" Affectionate amusement sparkling in Starsky's eyes, he grinned openly at his contrite partner. "Forget it, will ya?" With that he lightly patted Hutch's hand that still rested on his shoulder. "Better help me watch that building."

Hutch dunked his head with a grateful grin and nodded. And still...

Forget it, Starsky had said. That was easy to say. How could he possibly forget the night a couple of months ago, when he had almost lost his partner, his best friend for good, because he hadn't listened to that same partner's gut instinct? All at once, the events of that night came rushing back...

Chapter 2

"Think it's a good idea to meet that guy? Feels like a trap to me." Starsky was in a bad mood, had been fidgety all day. Even in the morning, when Hutch had picked him up. And it seemed like there was no particular reason for it. And all day he had been nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder. Figuratively. Literally he had hardly left Hutch out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time, fretting if he took a minute too long in the john.

And it got worse as the hours passed. While his concern for his partner was touching, Hutch began to feel stifled with the constant attention and started to gripe. Not in the mood for easy banter, Starsky gave as good as he got until both blew up at each other shortly after lunch. But it seemed like their shouting match cleared the air. At least where Hutch was concerned. Starsky eased up on him a little, but Hutch could tell that it was costing him to hold back, and that although he controlled himself better, he was still uneasy and deeply worried about something. When the sky started to darken with heavy storm clouds as the afternoon wore on, this just contributed to Starsky's gloom.

Finally Hutch couldn't take any more of it. "OK, I give - what's really bothering you? And don't tell me it's nothing, this just isn't you."

Starsky shook his head, not quite knowing what was wrong with him all day either. He just knew that something bad was about to happen. Or at least it felt that way. Maybe it was just the weather and the time of the year... maybe the bad feeling was really just bad memories... maybe- whatever. "I don't know, Hutch. If I find out, you're the first I'll tell, OK?"

That was just minutes before the call came that somebody wanted to see them at this office building. Something about the case they were working. Said he had info for them, and only for them. Without warning, all the alarm bells went off in Starsky's head and he felt the hairs in his neck rise. And without thinking, he gave Hutch his opinion. "This stinks." At his partner's surprised look, he added, "There's something not quite right about this. Don't ask me what, but something's wrong."

"Oh, come on Starsky, get a grip, will you? Do you have any idea how that sounds?" Hutch didn't try to mask his irritation. All day he'd put up with his friend's odd behavior, tried to be understanding. But this was too much. This was affecting their work. "Can you give me one good, logical reason why this is not what it seems? If not, we're going there." Then, more gently, "Starsky, in this job we can't avoid all the risks, you know that. So help me out here, OK? If you know something, noticed something, tell me. If not, quit stalling."

Starsky sighed. That was just his problem, all he had was his gut feeling. His instincts. And he usually listened to his instincts. So did Hutch, for that matter. Sometimes they were all they had to go on. But this time they really sounded irrational. Especially at a day like today, when he already wasn't sure how much was really instinct and how much was memories... Without looking at Hutch, he said, "OK. Let's go and get it over with."

The drive to the address they'd been given was spent in silence. Not their usual comfortable silence. This time it was tense on Starsky's side and worried on Hutch's. He just didn't understand what was going on in his best friend's head, something that didn't happen a lot. And something he didn't like at all.

The rain that had been threatening all day finally started, accompanied by lightning and thunder. Starsky had to slow down to accommodate the suddenly poor visibility, and Hutch was secretly glad they had taken the Torino that day instead of his own beater. No matter what he said, it just wasn't as reliable as his partner's Coke bottle on wheels.

Finally they arrived at the building complex that housed the rooms of Frank Lindstrom's import-export business. For the last few weeks they had been investigating Lindstrom's suspected involvement in some shady business that included contraband, bribe, and murder.

Lindstrom was a slippery character; smart and ruthless. It had been extremely difficult to find anything they could use against him, he had covered his tracks pretty good. His employees were too afraid or too greedy to talk. The two detectives had run against a wall of silence. Until this morning they had not had one single solid piece of evidence. It was only luck that had placed the first real usable clue in their hands. And now somebody wanted to spill his guts? Not likely. But not impossible, either, which was why for once Hutch didn't want to take Starsky's misgivings into consideration. And even Starsky was no longer sure if he should trust himself on this. He just knew he'd feel a lot better if he were anywhere else...

"You coming?" Hutch's voice startled Starsky out of his reverie. He had not even realized that he'd been staring up the building's front.

"Yeah, sure." He killed the engine, checked his gun, and then followed Hutch out of the car and to the building's entrance.

Once inside, both shook themselves like the proverbial wet dogs and wiped the rain from their faces and out of their eyes. "Maybe we should have stayed in the car." They grinned as they both spoke up in unison. Then they started moving simultaneously, but as they neared the elevators, Starsky hesitated a little.

Hutch sighed again, how many times had he done that today? "OK, what is it now?" He turned to his partner, and his annoyance gave way to worry again, as he say how pensive his partner looked.

Starsky actually looked a little sheepish beneath his pensive front, and he ducked his head as he murmured, "I'd rather walk, y'know."

At first Hutch thought he'd heard wrong. His don't-walk-if-you-can-drive-workout-is-evil-Starsky wanted to walk up to the eighth floor? "OK, who are you and what have you done to my partner? Starsky, you _never_ walk if you can help it. Why would you-"

"Oh, don't worry, I didn't say I was really going to walk. I just - I'd feel better, you know?" Another sigh, this time from Starsky. "Sorry, can't explain it. Let's go." With that he approached the bank of elevators and pushed the call button, still avoiding Hutch's eyes. How could he explain something he didn't even understand himself?

Hutch was at a loss as to what was going on in that curly head of his partner. Never before had he acted like this, and now that he looked a little closer, he could see that Starsky was a little paler than usual, there were tight lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, and when he pushed the button for the eighth floor, his hand trembled ever so slightly. He was beginning to doubt his wisdom in dragging his partner into something he might not be ready for. Or were his instincts really right? They usually were, but then again, usually there was more to go on than just feelings. One thing was for sure, as soon as they were done talking to this snitch, whoever he was, they would log out for a code seven and he would get Starsky to talk. For now, maybe he should try to lighten the mood.

"So, what's this with elevators, huh? You've never been claustrophobic, why now?"

This time Starsky did meet his eyes. He gave him a small, somewhat embarrassed little grin. "My cousin Albert. He got trapped in an elevator once. He was working late and nobody else was there. On his way down, the building got hit by lightning." He looked down, studying the wet stains on his Adidas.

"What happened?"

"The building burned to the ground." Still looking down, his voice and his features carefully schooled into casualness.

"With him still in that elevator? Oh, man. Sorry, Starsk." Hutch didn't know what else to say. Of course, just because it happened to his cousin, didn't mean it would happen to them. Still, it explained his hesitation and nervousness.

Fortunately, that was the moment the cabin arrived on their floor and the doors opened without a hitch. Despite himself, Starsky let out a breath he had not even known he was holding, then remarked, "Well, seems we were lucky."

Pulling their guns, they moved cautiously towards the glass doors to Lindstrom's office, checking all around for any suspicious activity. There was nothing. Everything looked quiet. Maybe too quiet? The lights in the office rooms were off. They could see enough by the light from the hallway to find their way down the corridor.

The anonymous caller had told them to come to the last office on the right side. They knew it belonged to Lindstrom, and it was the only one that had no glass doors or windows to the corridor, so nobody could look in from the outside. Perfect for somebody who didn't want to be seen talking to the police or perfect for a set-up? There was no light coming out from under the door, so if there was really somebody waiting for them, they were waiting in darkness. As the detectives slowly, carefully, made their way to the office door, they shared a look. And despite the darkness, they could both read each other perfectly - be careful, don't get hurt. And a very clear 'I'm sorry I doubted you' from Hutch, who suddenly felt the same tension Starsky did. Sapphire blue eyes met sky blue, the message loud and clear. 'Nothing to be sorry for, just be careful, got me?'

A final nod, then they positioned themselves to the left and right of the door. Hutch turned the doorknob since it was closer to his side, and the door swung open slowly. Then a nervous voice called out from inside, "Is that you, detectives?"

Chapter 3

They both recognized the voice immediately. It belonged to Jim Weathers, an accountant who had been highly unwilling to talk to them before. They had both suspected that it was because Lindstrom had some kind of hold over him. Why would he talk now?

"That you, Mr. Weathers? Wanted to see us about something? Why don't you come out, and we talk." Hutch made it sound casual, like nothing was wrong with the world. At the same time, both he and Starsky readied themselves for action.

"Uhm, no, I ca- can't come out. Please, come in and I'll tell you what I know!" By now the voice wasn't just nervous, it was downright terrified, with a potential for panicky.

"Nah, I don't think so. Strange offices always make me jumpy. Better come out and we go some place else, huh?" Nothing in Starsky's voice gave away the tension he had felt all day, or that by now he was as cold as ice inside. It sounded more like a friendly invitation. But it was not what the man inside the darkened office wanted to hear... any of the men inside the darkened office.

"Alright officers, let's drop this. Lose your weapons and come inside, one by one, hands where I can see them." This voice was cold, cruel, and merciless. They recognized it at once, too. Frank Lindstrom.

"Don't think so. Like it well enough out here." Hutch again, still deceptively jovial.

Their answer came immediately, at first in the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked, then a surprised, frightened yelp from the accountant, and finally in the icy, clipped tone of Lindstrom's voice. "In that case you might want to call for a coroner's wagon to ship off the worthless carcass of this piece of shit."

_What now?_

_Can't let him kill that guy._

_Yeah._

"OK, don't do anything rash, we'll come in."

"Fine. Lose your weapons, I wanna hear it." Two dull thuds from the hallway satisfied Lindstrom. "Hutchinson, you're first, come in with your hands behind your head."

Outside, Starsky and Hutch shared one more look. More was being said within these few seconds than most people talked all their lives. Both pleading with the other to be careful, not to take unnecessary risks, and both trusting the other implicitly. Then, as Hutch put his hands behind his neck, so utterly vulnerable, and moved into the still dark office, Starsky bent down quickly and soundlessly to retrieve his weapon and put it in the waistband of his jeans in the small of his back, waiting for his clue to join the party.

"Now you, Starsky. Hands behind your neck, and no hasty movements."

Now that the time for action had arrived, Starsky could feel all jumpiness and nervousness from the day fall off, leaving him calm and focused on his main duty. Protecting Hutch. The hands in his neck were steady, just like he needed them as he walked into the dark space beyond that door.

"That's far enough, stop." Again that cold voice they had both grown to hate over the last few minutes.

Then, without warning, a light switch was flicked, and both cops had to blink their eyes to get adjusted to the light that now shone directly into their faces. Just inside the cone of light was the miserable figure of Jim Weathers, tied to the chair he was sitting in, his eyes wide terrified and desperate. Hopeless. His face bearing the signs of a beating. The barrel of a gun rested behind his right ear, the finger of a gloved hand on the trigger, almost to the pressure point. A single tear escaped his swollen left eye. The very picture of a man who knew his lifespan was now measured in minutes, maybe seconds.

Hutch didn't have to look at his partner to know what he was thinking. _Shit, can't do anything as long as he has that gun to his head!_ He felt the same. It was a terrible situation. The moment they moved or breathed wrong, Lindstrom would pull the trigger and splatter them all with accountant brain matter.

Then the suspect _why do we call them suspects, we know that he's a creep_ surprised them all. Coming out from behind the hapless man in his chair, he turned to Hutch first, checking his empty shoulder holster _should call them fools, doesn't he know there are more places to carry a gun than a holster?_ and then turned towards Starsky. Again, he didn't find the gun hidden in his waistband. His eyes lit up in triumph, matching the feral grin that contorted his thin lips as he retreated to his place behind the desk, his gun moving back and forth between all three of his intended victims. Almost as if he couldn't decide who to kill first.

The next events happened so fast, it was hard to tell what came first. Weathers picked that moment to yell a desperate, "Do something!", momentarily distracting Lindstrom. He swung around, unsure who to shoot first, then, because he was the closest, he chose Hutch. Starsky saw the movement first, and in one swift motion pulled out his gun, slammed sideways into Hutch and squeezed off a bullet at the same time Lindstrom pulled the trigger. But while Lindstrom's went wide in his haste, Starsky's aim was right on target. Shock registered first on Lindstrom's face, then the pain from a slug in his shoulder. Hutch was by his side before he even realized what had happened, relieving him of his gun, cuffing him none too gently behind his back.

The next moment he was at his partner's side who rubbed his shoulder where he had hit the floor. "Thanks partner." _That was a close one. You saved my butt. You were right with that bad feeling of yours. Sorry I snapped at you earlier._ "You alright?" _You could have gotten killed there. Please don't leave me, ya hear?_

"I'm fine, just knocked the wind out of myself." _You're the one who almost bought it. Sure you're ok?_ "Read Lindstrom his rights, and then let's look after Jimmy here."

The next minutes were spent calling an ambulance both for Jim Weathers and for Lindstrom and back up and a crime lab team. Soon the whole eighth floor was a zoo, swarming with cops and medical personnel. The medics left first, transporting Lindstrom and Weathers to the hospital. Crime lab teams collected everything that looked remotely like something, files and papers were packed, the office computers carted off, and finally everything that could be done that night was done and Starsky and Hutch were the last to leave.

"Seems like we've been here for hours." Starsk yawned widely. "Think the storm has passed?"

Weird, with all that had transpired in here, Hutch had completely forgotten about the foul weather. "Hope so, getting soaked once is bad enough." Then, remembering Starsky's cousin, he added, "Want to walk or take the elevator?"

His partner's dark complexion got even darker, but he grinned. "You ever gonna let me live that one down? OK, let's take the elevator, I'm way to tired to walk anyway." That part was most certainly true, not only had it been a long day, but the adrenaline rush earlier had left him pretty drained. After all, it wasn't every day that you saw your partner almost getting shot, and preventing it by putting yourself in the possible path of that bullet. That had to take its toll. "Just wished the storm was over by now."

Chapter 4

The elevator doors slid shut silently. It wasn't one of the newest of fastest models, took almost seven seconds for each story. Plus some more for the first and last, which made for a whole minute inside that cabin. Funny how he had never noticed how small these things were. But after hearing the story of his partner's cousin, a slight unease crept into Hutch's attitude towards elevators. _Come on Hutchinson, get a grip!_

Deciding that now was as good a time as any other, he turned to his friend. "Starsk, I didn't get a chance to really thank you before. What you did - you risked your life for me. Thanks." The words sounded pitifully inadequate to his own ears. But he wasn't done yet. "And I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for not listening to you earlier. You have great instincts, and I should have trusted you. Don't know why I reacted like that today. And this whole jump-in-the-way-of-the-bullet-with-my-name-on-it-thing, don't do that again, please. I couldn't bear it if you got yourself killed protecting me." Hutch's voice had gone softer and softer, until it cracked with his last words.

Starsky couldn't take any more of Hutch's self incriminations. "Stop it right there, Hutch. Enough of the guilt, OK? I didn't - wait a minute, what was that?" A loud crack, like a thunderbolt, only louder. Then cabin rocked, dropped a few feet before coming to a crashing halt, sending both detectives to the floor.

Slowly sorting through his limbs and finding they were all were they belonged, although his left ankle felt sprained, Starsky turned to his partner. A heartbeat later he was kneeling at his side, anxious eyes roaming all over his dazed friend, cataloguing any visible injuries. There wasn't much to see, seemed Hutch had been lucky. Still, there was a cut over his right ear that was bleeding slightly, probably the reason why he was dizzy. But his pupils were both reactive, and he swatted at Starsky's hand when he tried to dab at the cut with his handkerchief. "Sorry 'bout that, let me look at that, looks like you'll live. You okay, how many of you do you see?"

"I'm fine, Starsk, only one of you, and this is just a scratch. How 'bout you?" He met the worried glance of the dark blue eyes, trying to convey that he was indeed alright. But this had to bring back bad memories for Starsky.

"Don't worry about me, I'm not the one lying there bleeding all over the place. Think you can stand?" At Hutch's nod, he carefully gave him a hand, only to gasp in pain as he put some weight on his bad ankle. "What the- sonofabitch!"

Now it was Hutch's turn to be worried. "Twisted it again, huh? Let me see." He helped Starsky sit on the floor, then carefully examined the already swelling ankle. "Not broken, but I bet it hurts. Try to keep off it, okay? Now, what's wrong with that elevator?" Getting up, he tried the alarm button, only to find it didn't work. "Any ideas?"

"Sounds like the last lightning hit the building, maybe something up there where all the ropes for the elevators run. Could have ruptured the rope for this one." Starsky's voice was deceptively calm. "At least that's what they said happened to the elevator my cousin was in." He looked up at Hutch, his eyes holding the same eerie calm his voice had. "The elevator getting hit by lightning was what caused the fire in the first place. Of course, that was an old building, lots of wood everywhere, but there are carpets everywhere and wooden furniture, and the cabin here is wooden, too."

Hutch felt his blood run cold. Was that really possible? If so, how would they get out of this? He knew for a fact that they were the last two people in this building, and with the alarm broken, nobody would miss them until they didn't show up for work tomorrow. But that was not what he said.

"Now don't you worry about any of that. We'll find a way out of here, okay?" He tried his best to sound convincing, but there was a tiny seed of doubt somewhere in his heart. Was it really only a few minutes ago that he had teased Starsky about wanting to take the stairs? Right now he would have given anything to turn back the time and walk the eight stories. "You just take it easy and keep your weight off that foot."

"You could try the flap in the roof, you know. Might be a way out." At first Hutch didn't quite understand what Starsky meant. He had busied himself trying to open the door, but it wouldn't even budge. Turning around, he followed his friend's gaze to the roof of the cabin. "Help me up, will ya?"

Against his better judgment, he did. Watching Starsky hop around on his good foot to avoid aggravating his bad ankle, but still determined to help in any way he could, hurt Hutch worse than the cut on his head, while at the same time making him proud of his partner's indomitable spirit. Proud to be called his best friend. And humble, knowing he did it for Hutch. And he knew he would do anything to get them both out alive. Starsky wouldn't share his cousin's fate.

"Yep, this could really work. See there? If you can wedge something in, you should be able to pry it open." Starsky pointed to a certain spot in the roof. "I just hope it opens so we can get out of this."

Looking up thoughtfully, Hutch contemplated their options. Starsky was right, this might be their only way out, and with no way to call for help... There was just a tiny little problem. "Starsk, how on earth do you think I could reach up there? This is way over my head, and with your bad ankle you can't give me a step-up. Was a great idea, though."

Starsky shook his head, his partner could be a little unimaginative at times. "That's right, but if I sit on the floor and support myself with my arms, you can step on my shoulders. That should be enough, dontcha think?"

Still this unnatural, chilling, calm in his voice. And all of a sudden, Hutch understood. His friend was giving him a way out here, with no intention to come along. With his injured foot, there was no way he could climb anywhere. And instead of just resigning himself to his fate, he kept looking for a way his not lame partner could get out, go for help if it wasn't too late. "Oh, Starsk, what am I supposed to do with you." Hutch realized he shouldn't really be surprised, they had always put the other's needs ahead of their own, that was standard operational procedure. Didn't mean it didn't chill him to the bone to think that his best friend intended to stay behind in what could be a burning building, trapped, alone, hurt. No way was he going to leave him behind. And if that meant they were not getting out at all, then so be it. But he'd be damned if he left him to die alone. Either they escaped together or not at all.

By now Starsky had positioned himself on the floor, right below the hatch in the ceiling. His arms were propped behind him, forming a solid, sturdy triangle with his upper body. What else could Hutch do? "Fine, I'll try." Awkwardly he climbed on the shoulders of his friend who in more than one way had always been his best and most reliable support. Trying to hold himself steady, he balanced while at the same time using his penknife to work on the hatch.

So focused was he on his task, when lightning hit again and killed the lights, suddenly plunging them both into complete darkness, he stumbled and fell off, dropping his knife and landing on his butt behind Starsky's back. He heard a small gasp, almost a sob, and his fear for his partner peaked. "You okay, Starsk?"

"It worked, the hatch is open. See that? And it's not hot yet, so there is some time left." For some reason Starsky's voice was tight with pain. Still, his first concern was that Hutch had now a way out.

"Starsk, what's wrong, what happened?" Hutch felt his way around the narrow confines of the cabin. He could feel his partner's shoulders trembling slightly as he looked up to the ceiling. Now that their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, they could see the hatch dangling in its hinge. "We'll take care of that later, now what's wrong with you? You hurt?" His anxiety rose as he didn't get an answer right away. But when he got an answer, it was even worse.

"It's that knife of yours. It has a really sharp point, y'know?" Starsky's voice sounded apologetic, like it was his fault. "But it's not so bad, didn't go in very far. Overbalanced, the handle is pretty heavy I guess-" Another gasp of pain, then a soft, "Sorry, Hutch don't want to worry you. I'll be fine."

Appalled, Hutch felt his way so he sat facing Starsky, and softly asked, "Which leg, Starsk?" _Please let it be the left one! Don't let him be completely incapacitated, how do I get him out of this if he can't at least walk? I'd carry him, but there's no way I can do that while climbing a probably greasy rope!_

This time Starsky's voice was not only calm, it was resigned. "Right one. Sorry Hutch, you'll have to go it alone." His eyes searching out Hutch's, saying more than his words could. "Take that knife with you, you'll need it."

"NO WAY! I'm not leaving you behind. We get out of this together or we don't get out at all. Hear me? Now let me take care of this, okay?" Despite the darkness Starsky could see the intense light in Hutch's eyes, telling him in no uncertain terms that this was not open for discussion. He would either find a way for them both to get out, or he would stay here with him, no matter what. And if that meant sharing a fiery grave with him, then that was alright with him.

With the utmost care, Hutch examined his friend's leg, soon finding where the point of his very own knife had penetrated. It had not went in deep, but the wound was bleeding profusely and it had to hurt like blazes. As gentle as possible, he put his own folded handkerchief on it and applied some pressure. A painful hiss told him just how much that hurt. As long as he could, Starsky would never let out a sound of pain if he could help it, knowing how guilty Hutch would feel.

Trying desperately to come up with something to distract Starsky from the pain he was inflicting with his ministrations, the only thing he could come up with was, "So, seems your bad feeling about today was dead on, huh? Sorry I didn't listen to you. If I had, we wouldn't be in that mess."

"And Weathers would probably be dead, remember? You were right, in this job we can't avoid all the risks. That's why the city pays us that outrageous salary, right? But as long as we are together... Hutch, this had nothing to do with cop's instincts. I guess I never told you it was around this time of the year my pop got killed, huh?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "Anyway, like my cousin, it was on a night like this. Don't know what this thing is my family has about stormy nights."

Starsky could feel his best friend's hands on his leg, trying to come up with a makeshift bandage. Trying not to hurt him in the process. Fat chance for that. But he was infinitely grateful to have him here, although he would give anything for him not to be here. Did that make sense? He'd rather die in here alone, knowing Hutch was safe, than taking him with him. At the same time he knew Hutch would never leave, just as he would never leave Hutch. Gee, what a mess. Trying to take his mind off the pain, he let his gaze wander back to the roof, maybe then he would even come up with a plan to get Hutch to leave after all...

That's when he saw it. The hatch swinging slightly, the hinge had somehow worked itself loose. Any moment now it could- "HUUUTCH!"

For the second time that day, Hutch felt himself being pushed to the side, this time followed by a strangled cry of pain, a loud clatter, and then silence.

"Starsk? Starsky? Come on, buddy, answer me. Starsk, what happened? Starsk? STARSK!"

Chapter 5

"Musta been some party," was the first thing Starsky thought as he swam toward consciousness . "Too bad I don't remember anything. Wonder if I got any good phone numbers." Squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his head, he decided to ask Hutch about it. That was when memory rushed back. The elevator, the hatch falling- Bolting upright, ignoring the awful pain in his head, he only knew he needed answers, and he needed them now.

"HUUUTCH!"

He didn't have to wait long, the best answer he could possibly get. A strong arm wrapping around his shoulders, fingers of a big, warm hand interlacing with his own. A soft, caring voice, reassuring him, putting his worst fears to rest. "I'm here, Starsky, I'm here, shh, everything's gonna be fine. Don't worry, I'm here, and I'll stay here, okay?"

Starsky heaved a big, relieved, sigh. For an awful second he had not remembered if he'd been able to save Hutch. But he was here, he was unhurt, and that was all that mattered for the moment. He let himself drift back to sleep, at peace now that he knew Hutch was fine.

The next time he woke up was not quite as bad. He was still a little disoriented, but he could see that blond head resting next to his hand, that was still clasped in the blonde's bigger one. He smiled at the picture, Hutch looked so young and carefree when he was asleep. He would have left him sleeping some more, but this was the moment the door opened and a cute young nurse slipped in.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up, Detective Hutchinson. I just wanted to change the IV. Dr. Carlysle will be in shortly to change the bandages." As quickly as she had come, she was gone again. Neither her patient nor his visitor had any time to flirt with her.

"How do you feel? You gave me quite a scare there." Hutch's eyes were dark with worry, and not a little guilt.

"Fine. Headache's better. Care to tell me what happened? How did we get out? And why did my head feel like it's about to explode any minute when I first woke up? And why does it feel like the skin back there is too tight?"

"Okay, I'll tell you everything, but then you have to rest, got me?" So Hutch told his injured partner how the hatch had lost its war with gravity and plunged to the ground, and how it would have scalped him had it not been for his very impulsive, very brave, and very selfless partner, who for the second time that day put himself in the path of danger. This time, though, he wasn't quite as lucky. The sharp edge of the hatch cut a nice, straight path in his scalp, knocking him out in the process and also giving him a moderate concussion. Add that to some serious blood loss both from the cut on his leg and his head wound, infection and some smoke inhalation-

"Wait a minute, smoke inhalation? There was no fire when I was around!"

"No, well, yes it was, but it took some time to make its way to where we were. We were trapped between the first and second floor. By the time it got near us, the rescue workers were almost there."

Between the first and second floor? They had been so close to freedom when disaster struck. Oh man. "So, how did they find us, and when?"

It hadn't been all that long, as it turned out. When they didn't arrive back at the station to write their reports, their new Captain blew a gasket and had them called on the radio. When they didn't respond, he sent out a black and white to the office building where they had been last seen. The officers saw the very distinctive Torino still standing in the same spot as when they had left, and a with one look they could also tell that the building was on fire. While one of them called it in, the other tried to get into the building and see if he could do anything to help. That's when he found that the elevator was stuck, and that his two fellow officers were trapped inside.

"The rest was fairly routine. They got somebody to free us from that elevator, took you to the hospital, where they stitched you back together, put you in a bed and that's that."

"Sorry." At Hutch's confused look, Starsky shrugged. "Sorry I left you alone to deal with all that. Couldn't have been easy, taking care of me like that. I'll try not to bail out on you next time."

Hutch shook his head, still not quite believing his ears. "How about you don't let there be a next time? Starsk, I was serious. What I told you in that elevator, before all that shit happened. I don't know how I could live with myself if you died saving my life. Don't do that to me, please. I couldn't... I don't want to find out, okay?"

"And just what do you expect from me? Stand by, watching you getting hurt or killed and do nothing about it? Sorry, no can do. And if you think about it, neither would you." His voice took on a tone he had with nobody else. "Hutch, you're my partner. And you're my best friend. The best friend I ever had, and the best I could ever want. That makes you the most important person in my life. I'll always do my best to protect you, and if one day that is going to get me killed then this is exactly how I would want to go. And before you start to argue, think what you would do in my place, okay? So, no more soapy scenes." He held his Hutch's gaze for a moment longer, then, satisfied he had made his point, asked the most important question. "They had to stitch my head back together? Just how much of my hair did they have to cut?"

Chapter 6

"Come on, Hutch, that is all ancient history." From somewhere, Starsky's voice cut through Hutch's memories, pulling him back to the here and now. A here and now where Starsky still wore an ugly dark knit cap, the same he himself had given him the day he was allowed out of the hospital.

They had had to shave almost half of his hair off anyway in order to stitch the horrible wound back together and to avoid infection from any hair getting into the immediate vicinity of the stitches. So it was easier to just shave him completely. The look on his face as he saw himself for the first time in the mirror would have been funny, but under the circumstances Hutch found that he was closer to crying. That was when he bought the cap, as ugly as it was, at least it covered his friend's head, protected him from the cold, and from unwelcome stares. And he didn't have to see the reminder of the terrible injury his friend had suffered in his behalf. And the question of what he could have done differently, had there been any way to prevent this from happening?

"Let it go already. Hutch, none of this was your fault, and you couldn't prevent it, either. No more guilt, okay? And if it makes you feel better, I'll throw this thing away. As soon as we put this case to bed and I can get home and shower and change." He waited for a moment to let this sink into the blond head of his partner, then added, "Of course, your hair is so thin you may want to keep it for yourself..."

The end.


End file.
